I've seen the creepy, late-night infomercials where babies are "taught to read" with a series of flashcards and exercises which leave the poor kid looking like some sort of bizarro-Einstein-Jr and the parents behaving like the worst of the worst from Toddlers & Tiaras. The first week of June, I'm pretty certain to join the ranks.
Of course, my "newborn" is three and a half, and instead of shoving flashcards in her face I will be taking her to the carefully-chosen preschool where she will begin her long and illustrious academic career.
It sure feels like she's a newborn; it was definitely just last week that she came rushing into this world in a wave of light and tears and bodily fluids; but evidently it's been 42 months. 42 months... that's over 1200 days of one-on-one time; breastfeeding, cuddling, learning, crying, laughing, hugging, arguing, growing.
Now she doesn't need me anymore.
Obviously that's not entirely true, but as a stay-at-home mother it's hard to fight the inevitable fate of my identity being totally wrapped up in what she's doing. And the thought of finally cutting the baby sling cords is overwhelming to say the least.
I have to admit, I feel guilty about being a little excited. I mean, I know my alphabet already and have been practicing it every day for a really long time now. A grown-up, out-of-the-house job where I talk about any number of things that don't include shapes and colors? It sounds positively indulgent. Next thing you know, I'll be hiring a babysitter so I can fly to Vegas and play the slots.
So, what's the trick? How do I effortlessly transition from Lerner-giant-milky-breast-and-snotty-nose-wiper back into Lerner-woman-of-mystery-and-intrigue?